Isolde Stack C
I look the monster in the eyes. Not knowing why when I should tremble in terror I am instead filled with an indomitable resolve.
Savalos meets the Eviscerator's luminous, heliotrope-colored eyes, swallowing his fear even as he becomes almost mesmerized by the unblinking, raptor-like stare of his adversary. When he speaks his voice is surprisingly even, although he can feel the quavering undercurrent with each word, as if he is trying to make himself understood while shivering from bone-numbing cold.
"I believe I am at a disadvantage. You know my name. Yet I don't know yours. Something more substantial than using the serial killer's name."
You have the uncanny feeling that with each word spoken by the Eviscerator he is somehow drawing nearer to you, despite the fact that there is no sign of him moving whatsoever. It is as if the intervening space between the two of you is being slowly eaten away by the ruinous aura of skewed temporal reality that permeates the daemon-host. The visual effect is jarring; like a pict-cording skipping frames.
His voice is soft, almost serene when he answers. The non-nictitating eyes drawing you in, and strangely, calming your fears. It is as if your terror is pointless, a vision of what fate itself has inevitably decreed for you reflecting back from his gaze.
"My names are legion. If it brings you some comfort to know the name of the shell I wear, it was, or is, or will be, Waldrimm."
I lick my lips, hoping to give Aebena the time she needs to get to safety. I have already written myself off. I just hope its a quick death, but deep down I know I won't be so lucky. This bastage is going to make me suffer. He's going to try and kill the both of us anyway."How am I to decide on the deal when I don't know with whom I am dealing with? My cards are on the table."
By the Throne I am not giving him a damn thing. Run Aebe Run!
"Seems there are a lot of players looking for something. What part of the deck are you looking for?"
The Eviscerator, Waldrimm, smiles at this last, his thin lips curling back into his high cheekbones, exposing perfect white teeth. It chills the marrow in your bones with its malevolence.
"Savalos, your use of this metaphor intimates to me that you are beginning to understand this little contest. This...intrigues me. It is as if a pawn on a regicide board has quite unexpectedly come to life in order to debate its unfortunate lot. It is a pity so few involved understand the game we play at, never mind what is at stake. For all that it will matter, then, I will tell you: I am the deck!"
If he so much as flinches toward me I will pull the trigger. I know it won't do a damn thing to him, but maybe I can at least ruin his suit.Old Man I wish I could have learned more from you...
"Figured you would be more worried for what Rico has planned for you? He knew you would be here."
Hope this bluff works.
Old Man I wish I could have learned more from you...
"Figured you would be more worried for what Rico has planned for you? He knew you would be here."
"Juan Rico and I will meet again, it is by fate ordained, but it will not be here, it will not be now, though it will be soon. No, now is our time."
As I continue to stare down the monster a memory of the Old Man pops into my head. A fond discussion about the art of the bluff over a card game. When you bluff you have to go all in for it to be believe, and the Old Man telling me the best lies are told with a grain of truth.Thanks Old Man, hope it works...
My voice booms with confidence. Using the lie to fuel my bravado.
"Honesty didn't you think we knew you were going to be here? Leaving those carved figurines of my companions and myself by her door. The Arbites so nicely detailing everything in their reports. Knowing you would be patiently waiting years for me to arrive to this very spot. Telegraphing your move so poorly you didn't even consider we took precautions? Your two moves behind, and out of position for this game. Guess you don't place regicide much?"
An expression of quizzical hesitation crosses the Eviscerator's grinning face for a split-second. You see it clearly because he now stands directly in front of you, so close you can smell the coppery scent of blood on his finely tailored clothing. His smile returns, the curiously human look of reassurance a strange thing to see on the handsome mask of worn by the daemon within. He breathes out an almost ecstatic sigh.
"I must thank you, Thul. It has been untold ages since the last time I felt surprise or doubt. It is something to be savored by one of my kind for its rarity. It matters little, however. This minute skein of probability has untangled itself in the time that flicker of hope passed across your pitiable visage."
He flicks on the chain-scalpel, and the buzzing sound is terribly, intimately loud in such close proximity.
"I should tell you before you die. When Waldrimm found me in the the mirror so long ago, his deepest desire was to avenge himself on his once-betrothed, the noblewoman cousin who refused his love to elope with common hive-filth. I've had to murder so many who caught his eye over the years, to sate his hunger, and appease his wrathful will. Your death matters nothing to him. But, since it will be followed by the naive little girl below us, and then the pretty clerk, this will please Waldrimm. I was so hoping you would live long enough to tell me of the one he truly seeks."
The smile grows wider, holding with it the terrifying implication that everything is connected, and nothing coincidental.
"So, tell me, where has your mother been hiding all these years? I think I'd enjoy giving poor Waldrimm the gift of her bones as a thanks before I shed his obsessed husk for Rico. I think your friend, with his driven, rage-filled, and meticulous nature will prove a much more satisfying fit for my needs."
"Goodbye, Savalos."
The scalpel comes up faster than your eyes can follow.
The Datacore, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"Senior Clerk Vincent Sepheris, Administrarium Business"
Vincent repeats the authentication code to the servitor. Normally he would find these security checks vexing, but compared to his experiences earlier today, he finds the servitors refreshingly pleasant.
The servitor buzzes and clicks almost irritably after cogitating your authentication code. It does not seem to share your appreciation of the present company. The eye-gun centers with heart-stopping efficiency on the center of your forehead.
"Ac-cess De-nied! Lex--mechani-cum en-try re-quires Code White clear-ance!"
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse ~ The Ready Room
After sitting down, I will say to Iacton, "As I told Ivaanov, you know you are under my orders until we rescue your master?"
Uriah's question hangs in the air as Iacton takes his seat at the dusty table. The sounds of cargo haulers coming and going outside is oddly muted in the room, as if it were somehow soundproofed.
Iacton continues sitting still, waiting for their contact to arrive. "I serve the Emperor. Who relays me his orders matters not."
I am taken aback, but not surprised why my mother ran. Seeing how weak of a shell is possessed by the daemon before me fills me with pride. Knowing how long she has been running and out thinking this abomination.
I watch carefully as the whirling blades come toward me. I don't expect to live, but I am damn well planning on giving Aebena, and Stroinigli as much time to get away as possible.
For some reason I actually laugh in the face of my own demise. Maybe its the fact that my bluff caught him off guard. Or the fact that my Mother is still free, and aggreviates him so. I really don't know.
"Well my Mother has always had good taste. Taking a good look at the face before me, I can see you have only played with half a deck. At best you have only been a joker in her eyes. You may carve me up like a Churraptus, but I am going to make you work for it you Son of a B####!
Awareness(50 + 20 = 70) =
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse ~ The Ready Room
Iacton continues sitting still, waiting for their contact to arrive. "I serve the Emperor. Who relays me his orders matters not."
1d100
With Iacton's answer, an uncomfortable silence hangs over the musty warehouse office. The voidborn pair stare awkwardly at one another for a long time before Iacton's eyes flick away to one of the dataslates resting at the end of the caffeine-stained table.
A winking amber message light has just activated on the device.
With Iacton's answer, an uncomfortable silence hangs over the musty warehouse office. The voidborn pair stare awkwardly at one another for a long time before Iacton's eyes flick away to one of the dataslates resting at the end of the caffeine-stained table.
A winking amber message light has just activated on the device.
Iacton picks up the dataslate and views the message.
Isolde Stack C
Laughing and not sure why, your own lop-sided grin appears. Throughout all of your short, hardscrabble life you've had to fight to survive, struggling and persevering through a combination of wits, stubbornness, and utter determination. Now, staring death in the face, you can't help but find some morbid humor in it all.
Feck, if this is your fate, so be it.
As a child, running through the hive-tenements of Ductside, you played at ganger with the other boys, stealing ploins and candy from the market stalls, having dust-ups with other urchins, and telling jokes, teasing and taunting your mates. You were always good at hitting a nerve, your mocking wit getting you in trouble, always having the perfect comeback on your lips. Drawing on that now, wanting to die smiling, you speak clearly, confidently, and tauntingly.
"Well my Mother has always had good taste. Taking a good look at the face before me, I can see you have only played with half a deck. At best you have only been a joker in her eyes. You may carve me up like a Churraptus, but I am going to make you work for it you Son of a B####!"
Even as the Eviscerator raises the whirring chain-scalpel to strike, your last, caustic barb is driven home with the precision of a scerrido between the ribs in a turf war. The part of the being before you that is still Waldrimm hears it, and his handsome, ageless face contorts in a very human expression of embittered fury. You know the voice that speaks next is not the daemon, because none of the words that follow possess the emotionless, self-assured sadism of your former interlocutor.
"I will carve your little slut's heart out with your shattered bones. Arellia forsook me for that filthy low-hiver wretch! Denied her birthright to spawn a worthless bastard like you? I'll dump your bloody head in her lap before I kiss her with my blade!"
Waldrimm rears back, plunging the buzzing chain-scalpel downward in a vicious, stabbing arc toward your head.
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse ~ The Ready Room
Iacton picks up the dataslate and views the message.
Tapping the 'slates incoming message rune, Iacton peruses the other information contained on the device while waiting the data to open.
Floorplans and the security codes for the Gran Pallazzar casino, locations of known safehouses of the Yellobouros, compiled background data on the Withdrawn Veil and its suspected link to various nefarious doings in the Grey Way...
It appears as though Dunkan Danicos provided you with the accumulated results of his inquisitorial retinue's investigations and surveillance. Clicking on a touch activated sim-parchment scroll icon left on the pict-viewer of the dataslate, Iacton uncovers a note from Oktammor.
[3.816.M41/17:15:33: Dunkan asked that I leave these 'slates for your leg of the journey. There is a great deal contained herein that may help in your endeavor. I've also provided Rico with an encrypted datalink to one in the event he needs to make contact. Good hunting! ~Oktammor]
You then realize the significance of the blinking message rune.
Seeing Waldrimm take control away from the daemon I see my opportunity to get away. Without hesitation I sieze my opportunity to drop down the ladder, and make my run the vehicle. Most importantly we found a weakness that we can exploit. Live or die, I gave my companions a weapon.
"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm no bastard. And I'm happy to say I'm very much the likeness of my Pops. Not from your weak seed."
I hope I can keep him so flustered that I can make a decent get away. Once the daemon gains control I'm dead. Living in the Underhive you learn alot of barbs to insult anothers Manhood. I am going to pull a few choice ones from that collection now.
The Datacore, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
The servitor buzzes and clicks almost irritably after cogitating your authentication code. It does not seem to share your appreciation of the present company. The eye-gun centers with heart-stopping efficiency on the center of your forehead.
"Ac-cess De-nied! Lex--mechani-cum en-try re-quires Code White clear-ance!"
Vincent fishes Kreed's ward accessor from his coat pocket and carefully transcribes the required code. Tipping his hand at this early occasion is inopportune, but Vincent has the odd feeling that time is not on his side.
You then realize the significance of the blinking message rune.
"Uriah, Rico is calling us.", says Iacton as he attempts to play the message.
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse ~ The Ready Room
Placing the dataslate on the table between the two of them, Iacton activates the message. Expecting a vox-cording, they are surprised instead to see a text-based message scroll across the screen, preempted by the proper inquisitorial ciphers and Rico's signifiers.
It reads as follows:
<<<+++Taper 41R-999 Cipher Approved+++>>>
I won't feign apology. I had to leave. I know this hive better than any of you, and I've always done my best work alone...except when Dove was with me...but, as you know, she is the reason I needed to go. She doesn't have much time left and I could never forgive myself if I didn't do everything in my power to save her. There are people and places in Vaxus District only I know of, sources and leads that I can investigate alone better than a retinue of acolytes ever could.
I'm sorry, Uriah. You have to trust me.
I've called in some favors from an old friend in the Arbites, named Luthos. He wants the corrupted arbitrators dealt with, as much as we do. Luthos can be trusted. He provided me with an extensive list of Leprade's cronies...and their dwelling places. Iacton will know what to do with it.
I may have a lead on where the Eviscerator is hiding. I will make contact again as soon as I know more.
[APPENDED FILE/ARB_HITLIST_TX]
Vincent fishes Kreed's ward accessor from his coat pocket and carefully transcribes the required code. Tipping his hand at this early occasion is inopportune, but Vincent has the odd feeling that time is not on his side.
Realizing you have very little choice if you wish to proceed, you activate the ward accessor, and the servitor immediately stands down, the eye-mounted gun retracting slightly into the dried out socket. With a wheeze of foully expelled breath from its autoloung, it speaks again with the tinnily inflected voice.
"Ac-cess Gran-ted!"
The vault-like door to the Lexmechanicum grinds open with a shrieking protest caused by old hydraulics, and you step inside.
This portion of the datacore is set aside for the rationalization, compilation, and analysis of data assembled by the core cogitator system of the claustrum. The overseers of this complex role are the tech-priests known as the lexmechanics, servants of the Omnissiah augmetically specialized solely for the purpose of assembling raw data and regurgitating it as qualitative analytics, utilizing all variables, trends and associations.
The room itself is impressive. A four-level open space ringed by grille catwalks leading to bizarre workstations wired directly into a titanic network of linked data-looms. The recirculated air in the room is rank and stale, the harsh scent of body odor overlaid with the strident smell of ozone. An overriding humming sound, like that made by a massive generator or battery reverberates off of the stainless steel walls, punctuated by the rapid-fire clicking from dozens of tech-priests rapping away at consoles. There is another sound, like a scratchy whispering, that takes some time for you to identify. After stepping into the vaulted space you realize it is the sounds of hundreds of autoquills simultaneously transcribing, each fed by great, barrel-sized reams of parchment held aloft by squeaking spindles high overhead. The output of these devices is alternately spat out of, or swallowed back into the data-loom with the thrumming sounds of an exponentially large printing press.
Fortune smiles on you, and you are thankful for the obsessively organized tendencies of the Mechanicus. It seems you will not have to negotiate the perilous looking open-air lifts at each corner of the chamber, because the workstation you are seeking is a few meters to your left, clearly marked in spray-stenciled letters with the words:
-Lexmechanic Gulvar-.
Isolde Stack C
"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm no bastard. And I'm happy to say I'm very much the likeness of my Pops. Not from your weak seed."
Finally understanding how the Eviscerator and the daemon bound within it can be both omnisciently prescient and erratically unpredictable, you realize, rather sadly, that you will have little time to appreciate your epiphany. No sooner is the final insult free from your lips, does Waldrimm screech in inarticulate rage and plunge the chain-scalpel into your head.
Were it not for the hurtling form that strikes the Eviscerator from out of the sky at that very moment, you would certainly be no more. You never feel the tip of the chain-scalpel enter your left cheek, the revolutions of the blade so fast that there is no resistance when it impacts your flesh. As one heartbeat passes you see Waldrimm's crazed eyes and frothing lips, by the next a veritable airburst of brown feathers explodes around you as a winged, motion-blurred, child-like form collides with his descending arm. For an instant, the pulsing indigo radiance that surrounds the Eviscerator winks out. It is followed immediately thereafter by a deafening, ear-piercingly loud avian screech that shatters or cracks every hab-stack window in the vicinity of the fire escape. The winged fury before you that buffets and batters the Eviscerator's head and shoulders like a surprised churraptus screams as well, the sounds of a furious child driven to rage unlike anything it has ever felt before. Maia tears into the skin of the daemon-host's face with tiny fingers, scratching and clawing with raptor-like ferocity.
You fall backward, plummeting the three meters down the ladder well to the level below, a pluming trail of your own bright crimson blood streaking behind you like an aircraft contrail as time itself seems to slow down. Landing with a bone-jarring crunch on your coccyx, you sit upright almost immediately to find yourself staring into Aebe's frightened face. Not even sure why, you push one finger against your left cheek and are surprised to find it penetrating a slit-like gap. You touch one of your own molars without ever opening your mouth.
The awful screaming from above continues unabated, accompanied by the frantic fluttering and buffeting of wings. As brown plumes fall all around you, you see the Eviscerator stagger against the railing above, swiping and slashing at Maia as she clings to him. The impossible fluctuating of reality around the daemon has ceased, but time still seems to hang suspended as the adversaries lean precariously over the spear-pointed iron bars. You only begin moving again when the pair tumble over the side, Maia struggling to kick off from the Eviscerator before soaring off into the sky. The being once called Waldrimm falls, turning head over heels for almost ten meters before landing on his head and neck upon solid rockcrete with a gruesome crunch.
Now, with Aebena urging you on, blood coursing down your face in rivulets, you run for the far end of the platform. Aebe never slows, leaping the final ladder-well and the narrow rail at the far end, pulling you along with her into space. You fall together the final ten feet, hands-held together, aiming for the rear seat of the parked Sabrewolf, its convertible roof now retracted. Stroinigli leans over from where he stands on the front seat, eyes wide and neck tendrils writhing anxiously, waving you on.
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse ~ The Ready Room
Placing the dataslate on the table between the two of them, Iacton activates the message. Expecting a vox-cording, they are surprised instead to see a text-based message scroll across the screen, preempted by the proper inquisitorial ciphers and Rico's signifiers.
It reads as follows:
<<<+++Taper 41R-999 Cipher Approved+++>>>
I won't feign apology. I had to leave. I know this hive better than any of you, and I've always done my best work alone...except when Dove was with me...but, as you know, she is the reason I needed to go. She doesn't have much time left and I could never forgive myself if I didn't do everything in my power to save her. There are people and places in Vaxus District only I know of, sources and leads that I can investigate alone better than a retinue of acolytes ever could.
I'm sorry, Uriah. You have to trust me.
I've called in some favors from an old friend in the Arbites, named Luthos. He wants the corrupted arbitrators dealt with, as much as we do. Luthos can be trusted. He provided me with an extensive list of Leprade's cronies...and their dwelling places. Iacton will know what to do with it.
I may have a lead on where the Eviscerator is hiding. I will make contact again as soon as I know more.
[APPENDED FILE/ARB_HITLIST_TX]
"He should of told me what he had planned. I understand he needed to talk to his contacts alone, but one of us could have watched his back. If he gets himself killed it does not do the mission or our Master any good. Until he comes back, I will have to consider him going rogue. I will give him one full day before I make that official.
Now please show me what he has that we can share with the group and work out a plan of attack or infiltration as necessary."
Stunned by the swiftness, and brutality of the attack I am barely aware of my surroundings. Aebe's voice a distant echo lost in the cacophony of voilence. Maia image blurs into an image of an Angel of Vengeance, and I stumble and fall toward the relative safety of the Sabrewolf . My strength and guide is my Aebe as my life blood spills out of my cheek.
The only clear thoughts I have are, I got in your head you son of a b####, I got in your head. I don't talk afraid to tear the wound even wider. I try and keep a firm grip of Aebe's hands. The only reassuring sign I can give her.
"He called it a hit list, and in the end that might be true. First, we will interrogate these people, after we get the information, if I deem it the correct action, we will execute them. Whether it is your blade or mine is irrelevent, just that the act is done is what is important. If they are in league with those committing Malleus, then it is in my direct orders from my Master to execute any involved."
The Datacore, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"Lexmechanic Gulvar I presume."
Vincent eyes the tech-priest occupying the workstation, sizing him up and keeping an eye out for any evidence that the Omnissians are cooperating with Triggs and his sycophantic thugs.
Isolde Stack C
Falling side by side, Aebena hits the rear seat of the Saberwolf just before Savalos, knocking the wind out of her, momentum rolling her into the narrow well behind the front seats, otherwise unharmed. The acolyte isn't as lucky, the front of his boot managing to snag on the lip of the retracted roof, throwing him face forward into the front passenger seat and wrenching his head back awkwardly. The pain is jarring, but brief, as Stroinigli immediately punches the accelerator a second later, forcing Thul back into the maulchups upholstered back seat of the '804 Saggat.
The groundcar fishtails its way out from beneath the looming shadow of the fire escape, tires squealing on damp rockcrete. As the vehicle speeds away, Stroinigli looks back over his shoulder, his trademark jocularity gone, replaced by a mask of abject terror. Even his neck tendrils hang slack and lifeless along his throat. Seeing something that makes him pale still further, he turns around, gunning the engine even more, no longer daring to look behind him.
Savalos regains consciousness some time later, awoken by gentle words being whispered into his ear, a light hand stroking his head, and wet, sticky blood flowing into his ear where he lays across the seat with his head resting in Aebena's lap. The throaty roar of the sports-car changing gears fills his ears, but he can still just make out what she says.
"It was her...it was Maia, Sav...she saved us."
The Datacore, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
The Datacore, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II"Lexmechanic Gulvar I presume."
Vincent eyes the tech-priest occupying the workstation, sizing him up and keeping an eye out for any evidence that the Omnissians are cooperating with Triggs and his sycophantic thugs.
At your greeting, the tall figure standing in the narrow-walled workstation before you slowly turns in most bizarre fashion, legs remaining stock still, while the umber-robed upper body twists around impossibly at the midriff. Looking over Lexmechanic Gulvar's extensive augmetics, you see that his waist is nothing more than a wide, bronze-colored screw assembly affixing his torso to his legs. As he rotates about in place, his upper body comes down slightly in height, the well-lubricated joint shedding drops of machine oil.
Now that he is facing you, it is apparent that the lexmechanic is arguably more machine than man, his face covered by the wide-bore, bell-like protruberence of a vox-grill speaker that looks disturbingly like a brass megaphone. His nose is absent, or hidden entirely, his head a wrinkled dome of waxy gray skin couching a pair of wet, lifeless eyes that seem to look through and past you. His entire body, and the cloak that appears to bind it together with his oversized potentia coil is covered in scrips and scrolls of unfurled parchment, pinned to his form with golden staples. One hand stands out as absurdly normal other than black rubber finger caps for leafing through documents. The other is another story, a great spindly-looking metallic spider comprised of needle-tipped autoquills that have replaced the hand entire.
Lexmechanic Gulvar, with his curious ability to look at what is behind him without actually turning, sheafs of parchment shrouding him like dun-colored feathers, and his great staring eyes looks like nothing more than the Omnissiah's cruel facsimile of an owl, albeit one twisted and partially reforged by machinery.
When he asks his question, in a querulous voice booming from his horn-vox, you almost laugh in spite of yourself.
"WHO are you?"
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse ~ The Ready Room
Iacton inclines his head toward the shipping dock, having thought he heard the squeal of tires. Even before Uriah finishes speaking, there comes a loud, persistent banging upon the office door.
I will pull out my laspistol, aim it at the door, and nod to Iacton to open it.
The Geltdown Docks
Peering into the large magnoculars through a sliding steel shutter hidden within the wall of the cargo-8, Kaltos surveys the expansive shipping hub for Vaxus District. Filled with extensive rows of hexagonal landing platforms that cover every square meter of the expansive super-hangar like the gritty grey scales of some vast reptilian beast, the tech-priest tries in vain to pinpoint the target of their surveillance. Hundreds of flitting shuttle-craft, massive cargo haulers and ponderous Agri-Scows are in the process of either landing, unloading, or lifting off again. Combined with the pronounced scent of aviation fuel wafting into the rear of the truck, the never-ending vehicular traffic carrying away the cargo from the various craft, and the droning circuits of the massive load-lifter cranes, Kaltos has more than enough distractions in his effort to locate the lone Guard shuttle.
While Kaltos zooms in the magnoculars, searching likely churraptus-class birds for the wing designators specified by Oktammor earlier, the large man does his best to pinpoint their approximate position within the Geltdown Docks to make their job easier. Albrek busily makes adjustments to a concealed gunport on the same side of the truck, propping his bulky autocannon into place across sandbags piled on the bench for just this purpose and the dual benefit of cover in the event things turn for the worse. Danicos' remaining agents, assisted by Ivaanov, mill about in the rear of the truck, one setting up a man-portable vox-caster while two others unload components of a small cogitator affixed to a vox-thief antenna mast on the outside of the cargo-8.
Isolde Stack C
"It was her...it was Maia, Sav...she saved us."
I nod to Aebena and mumble, "Our Guardian Angel..."
I watch as the lights stream above me in the underhive as the Sabrewolf flys through lonely streets.
The Geltdown Docks
Peering into the large magnoculars through a sliding steel shutter hidden within the wall of the cargo-8, Kaltos surveys the expansive shipping hub for Vaxus District. Filled with extensive rows of hexagonal landing platforms that cover every square meter of the expansive super-hangar like the gritty grey scales of some vast reptilian beast, the tech-priest tries in vain to pinpoint the target of their surveillance. Hundreds of flitting shuttle-craft, massive cargo haulers and ponderous Agri-Scows are in the process of either landing, unloading, or lifting off again. Combined with the pronounced scent of aviation fuel wafting into the rear of the truck, the never-ending vehicular traffic carrying away the cargo from the various craft, and the droning circuits of the massive load-lifter cranes, Kaltos has more than enough distractions in his effort to locate the lone Guard shuttle.
While Kaltos zooms in the magnoculars, searching likely churraptus-class birds for the wing designators specified by Oktammor earlier, the large man does his best to pinpoint their approximate position within the Geltdown Docks to make their job easier. Albrek busily makes adjustments to a concealed gunport on the same side of the truck, propping his bulky autocannon into place across sandbags piled on the bench for just this purpose and the dual benefit of cover in the event things turn for the worse. Danicos' remaining agents, assisted by Ivaanov, mill about in the rear of the truck, one setting up a man-portable vox-caster while two others unload components of a small cogitator affixed to a vox-thief antenna mast on the outside of the cargo-8.
I will pull out my laspistol, aim it at the door, and nod to Iacton to open it.
Iacton nods and opens the door, one hand on his sword.
"Did she get away? Is Maia safe?"
The Geltdown Docks
The tech-priest pans the magnoculars across the busy port, surveying teams of stevedores clad in green jumpsuits unloading bulk transports with synchronized ease, loitering shuttle crews scanning their dataslates while prepping for departure, and tank-treaded monotask servitors hoisting massive hoses to umbilicus nodules on various craft, refueling them from massive bowsers attached to trailers they tow. The dock district is chaotically busy, with countless vehicles and individuals to track and account for. Kaltos, with his orderly mind, cannot help but muse about possible protocols that would make the entire process more efficient. Realizing he is daydreaming as only a tech-priest can, he shakes his head slightly to clear it and focuses on the task at hand.
Scanning a closely packed cluster of smaller churraptus shuttle craft, he freezes suddenly, magnifying his view still further, and centering his optics on the tail-wing of an older bird, the edges of it tinctured with a patina of rust. He calls out the designator to Oktammor, "OR7-273", while searching for the platform identifier. There. A low number, actually, platform #7. Quite close in fact to the titanic opening in the side of the hive itself where the craft enter the docks.
The big man speaks.
"That's our shuttle."
Oktammor signals the driver of the cargo-8 and the engine rumbles to life again.
"We're a good distance off, let's see if we can't get a little closer."
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse ~ The Ready Room
I will pull out my laspistol, aim it at the door, and nod to Iacton to open it.
Unholstering his pistol, Uriah stands and sights down the las, waiting for Iacton to pull it open.
Iacton nods and opens the door, one hand on his sword.
The door swings open easily, and Krade's aide releases his anxious grip on the new sword when he sees who is behind it.
Stroinigli, dressed in an elegant shirt curiously marred by spreading sweat stains at the armpit and expensive black trousers ripped at one knee pulls his hand back abruptly from another knock and looks at Uriah's drawn weapon fearfully, the gold rings linked to his neck tendrils tinkling together. Composing himself somewhat, he speaks quickly, in his nervousness slipping slightly back into the sump-dweller patois he used when you first met.
"Come. Quickly. Your fren, Savalos, he's hurt...badly. It...it was the Eviscerator. We barely escaped. Come to think of it, I don' know how any of us are alive at all after facing 'im down, to tell of it."
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse
"Did she get away? Is Maia safe?"
You hear the sounds of trucks. Big ones. The heavy smell of their idling exhaust fills your nostrils, along with the sweet, clean smell of Aebe's hair where it hangs into your face where you lay cradled in her lap. The world begins to resolve more clearly, coming into focus, and you realize you slipped away again for a time. A stinging pain comes from your face, making it feel swollen and numb. As if competing with this, a throbbing ache climbs up your right leg from your ankle.
"I think so, I think she did. She was screaming though, Sav. I...I...think that thing hurt her, too."
"Are we safe now, though? He drove us to some warehouse in Geltdown, there are lots of people here. Your friend just ran up some steps and went inside a door. He told me to wait. Is it safe, Sav? Is it? He kept saying the same thing over and over again the whole ride here. 'We're fecked, we're all fecked'."
I go follow Stroinigli signaling Iacton to follow.
The Datacore, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
At your greeting, the tall figure standing in the narrow-walled workstation before you slowly turns in most bizarre fashion, legs remaining stock still, while the umber-robed upper body twists around impossibly at the midriff. Looking over Lexmechanic Gulvar's extensive augmetics, you see that his waist is nothing more than a wide, bronze-colored screw assembly affixing his torso to his legs. As he rotates about in place, his upper body comes down slightly in height, the well-lubricated joint shedding drops of machine oil.
Now that he is facing you, it is apparent that the lexmechanic is arguably more machine than man, his face covered by the wide-bore, bell-like protruberence of a vox-grill speaker that looks disturbingly like a brass megaphone. His nose is absent, or hidden entirely, his head a wrinkled dome of waxy gray skin couching a pair of wet, lifeless eyes that seem to look through and past you. His entire body, and the cloak that appears to bind it together with his oversized potentia coil is covered in scrips and scrolls of unfurled parchment, pinned to his form with golden staples. One hand stands out as absurdly normal other than black rubber finger caps for leafing through documents. The other is another story, a great spindly-looking metallic spider comprised of needle-tipped autoquills that have replaced the hand entire.
Lexmechanic Gulvar, with his curious ability to look at what is behind him without actually turning, sheafs of parchment shrouding him like dun-colored feathers, and his great staring eyes looks like nothing more than the Omnissiah's cruel facsimile of an owl,...
"As I have already told the servitors tending the doors, I am Senior Clerk Vincent Sepheris. I was told that you were handling some data inquiries into my section."
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse
"Did she get away? Is Maia safe?"You hear the sounds of trucks. Big ones. The heavy smell of their idling exhaust fills your nostrils, along with the sweet, clean smell of Aebe's hair where it hangs into your face where you lay cradled in her lap. The world begins to resolve more clearly, coming into focus, and you realize you slipped away again for a time. A stinging pain comes from your face, making it feel swollen and numb. As if competing with this, a throbbing ache climbs up your right leg from your ankle.
"I think so, I think she did. She was screaming though, Sav. I...I...think that thing hurt her, too."
"Are we safe now, though? He drove us to some warehouse in Geltdown, there are lots of people here. Your friend just ran up some steps and went inside a door. He told me to wait. Is it safe, Sav? Is it? He kept saying the same thing over and over again the whole ride here. 'We're fecked, we're all fecked'."
I try to shake off the pain, and focus on Aebena. "Fecked huh? Real optimist... Things could have gone alot worse for us. Your okay?"
I close my eyes for a minute and collect my thoughts.
"I'm hurtin' bad Aebe. How bad is it? I can't even feel where I was shot... Really hope Maia is safe."
I close my eyes again to keep my train of thought.
"I'm sorry Aebe. Never meant to put you in danger... Your home... You can never go back there. Is the Golden Aquila safe?"
The Datacore, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"As I have already told the servitors tending the doors, I am Senior Clerk Vincent Sepheris. I was told that you were handling some data inquiries into my section."
Lexmechanic Gulvar regards you blankly, still boring a hole through you with his runny-egg eyes. When he speaks, it is loudly again, the trumpet-like augmetic where his mouth should be seemingly having no other setting. At least it lets him be heard over the cacophony spooling paper and clicking keys.
"YOU are not Warden-Colonel KREED. Yet, you come with his AUTHORIZATION. You are here as his PROXY then. This is paradoxical. I was notified to begin an INQUIRY into you section's terminal activities. It is most IRREGULAR for the subject of an inquiry to come HERE."
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse
I go follow Stroinigli signaling Iacton to follow.
Lowering your pistol, you collect the dataslates and hurry after Stroinigli, who is already halfway down the catwalk to the stairs. Iacton lopes behind, his hand still on his sword.
I try to shake off the pain, and focus on Aebena. "Fecked huh? Real optimist... Things could have gone alot worse for us. Your okay?"I close my eyes for a minute and collect my thoughts.
"I'm hurtin' bad Aebe. How bad is it? I can't even feel where I was shot... Really hope Maia is safe."
I close my eyes again to keep my train of thought.
"I'm sorry Aebe. Never meant to put you in danger... Your home... You can never go back there. Is the Golden Aquila safe?"
Aebena, her eyes still wet, laughs somewhat hysterically in relief when she pulls aside your furs, noticing the pronounced hole in them for the first time.
"It must have missed you. There's a gash, but...your face though, Sav, you cheek...it's bad, I can't stop the bleeding."
Hearing the concern in your voice, she reaches beside her and pulls up the golden aquila, none the worse for wear.
Stroinigli's face is then hovering over yours, upside-down from outside the car, still pale and apprehensive.
"Hang in there, fren! Help is coming."
You hear Uriah's voice calling to Iacton from somewhere nearby.
I run up to Savalos, and look at his wounds.
"Let us get him inside. If you allow me, I will attempt to heal you."
I smile when she shows me the Golden Aquila. Uriah would have my hide if we lost it. "Until I am strong enough to protect it, give it to a man named Uriah. He's a voidborn."
I notice Uriah's presense only after he talks. I laugh a bit til I get a flash of pain. "Like I would fragging say no? Course I want to be stitched up."
"Help me up Aebe."
"Stroinigli, tell them what we learned."
I test my strength and balance carefully as Aebena helps steady me. I have no idea how much blood I have lost, or how light headed I am.
As we take up to the offices, I say to him, "I did not mean stitched up, Savalos."
Iacton moves to help steady Savalos, sparing only a moment to glance at Uriah. "I have much to tell you as well."
As we take up to the offices, I say to him, "I did not mean stitched up, Savalos."
I nod a thanks to Iacton for helping to steady me, and I give a look to Uriah like he damn well knew what I meant.
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse ~ The Ready Room
Returning to the long-abandoned office, Iacton lowers Savalos into one of the mismatched folding chairs. A steady patter of blood drips from his face to the floor, soon pooling up into a sizable slick. Quickly pulling the remaining napkins from the dispenser beside the dead vending machine, Uriah presses them to Sav's wound, a gaping, six centimeter long vertical slit in his brother acolyte's cheek.
Stroinigli closes the door behind him, gesturing for Aebena to sit. Watching Savalos being tended to, he shakes his head, obviously at a loss.
"Damn it. Let me fetch Nessa, that won't staunch it. He's going to need a medicae for sutures before he bleed out."
Aebena looks around, almost as overwhelmed as when she first saw her former lover come into her apartment. She eyes the assassin warily, looking at the peculiar voidborn tending to her friend with uncertainty.
Invocation roll(50) =
fate point to reroll
2nd Invocation roll =
Healer roll =
Healed wounds.
Shaultus Transhipping Warehouse ~ The Ready Room
Uriah waits for Stroinigli to leave the room before turning back to his companion. Pulling the golden aquila from his robes, he pinches Savalos' cheek closed between forefinger and thumb with one hand, pressing the relic against his forehead with the other.
Closing his eyes to concentrate, a hush falls over the room. After a few seconds, the lumen strips on the ceiling, once shedding a diffuse and bleary fluorescent light, begin to brighten with a rich, golden glow. The litter in the room begins to swirl on an ethereal breeze born from the Warp's intrusion, and with a buzz of static, the dormant vending machine's adverts brighten, and with a dull whump a single can of myco-chill pops out of the dispenser and rolls across the floor.
Iacton notices the dust covering everything in the room is now gone. A faint burning smell, like ozone and incense, wafts through the air.
Pulling his hands away slowly, Uriah tosses the blood-soiled napkins aside.
Putting his hands to his face hesitantly, Savalos feels the puckered edge of newly-formed scar tissue. He cannot see it, and Uriah and Iacton think that is for the best.
The long, centimeter-wide scar running up Savalos' cheek from chin to just beneath his eye is not the dull, creamy white of normal scar tissue, but instead an abnormally pale, heliotrope hue, a few shades off from the color of his hair. Other than a slight itching, the pain is completely gone. Although your side throbs slightly, the ache in your ankle has receded appreciably as well.
The Geltdown Docks
The tech-priest pans the magnoculars across the busy port, surveying teams of stevedores clad in green jumpsuits unloading bulk transports with synchronized ease, loitering shuttle crews scanning their dataslates while prepping for departure, and tank-treaded monotask servitors hoisting massive hoses to umbilicus nodules on various craft, refueling them from massive bowsers attached to trailers they tow. The dock district is chaotically busy, with countless vehicles and individuals to track and account for. Kaltos, with his orderly mind, cannot help but muse about possible protocols that would make the entire process more efficient. Realizing he is daydreaming as only a tech-priest can, he shakes his head slightly to clear it and focuses on the task at hand.
Scanning a closely packed cluster of smaller churraptus shuttle craft, he freezes suddenly, magnifying his view still further, and centering his optics on the tail-wing of an older bird, the edges of it tinctured with a patina of rust. He calls out the designator to Oktammor, "OR7-273", while searching for the platform identifier. There. A low number, actually, platform #7. Quite close in fact to the titanic opening in the side of the hive itself where the craft enter the docks.
The big man speaks.
"That's our shuttle."
Oktammor signals the driver of the cargo-8 and the engine rumbles to life again.
"We're a good distance off, let's see if we can't get a little closer."
"Great I want to see more." I mumble "I could have found it faster if this place was not so chaotic."
Seeing the worry and concern on everyones faces I know its best to break the silence. Deep down I wonder how bad the scar really is. Would my own mother recognize me. I am not thrilled at being healed by a Wryd or a Headcase, but in the Underhive one can be picky. Not the first time a psyker has closed my wounds.
"See you can never keep a good Wolf down. As good as new. Have to find Kalaziel. She saved my life, she needs patching up too. Got to tell you though..."
I watch as Stroinigli runs out the door to fetch Nessa. I know I'm going to be sitting here awhile. Otherwise Nessa will track me to the warp itself to check on my wounds. Real firebrand that one.
I know time and information are critical. Regardless of my condition the others are able and must act.
"We need to warn the Old Man about the Eviserator. Our guns can't hurt it. Alot tougher than the thing at the Mercy, or those at the Gear Box. Its looking to possess Johnnie. Where is Johnnie, and the others anyway?"
I stop, and collect my thoughts for a minute, organize them, and let what I told the others some time to sink in.
"I know the Eviserators name. He has been hunting my Mother for the last twenty years... He's looking to carve up Sunshine too. We are going to have to move on the Yellobacks if we want to save her."
"Also the Daemon is looking for something that belonged to it. Wants it back. It won't stop til it gets it."
I know if Waldrimm ever finds Dunkan's network and hideout then we are all dead.
"Give me a list of things the Master needs to know. I know we have to report to him what has been going on."
"Where is Johnnie, and the others anyway?"
"Rico went to question some contacts of his own. Here." Iacton hands Savalos a dataslate.
"Also the Daemon is looking for something that belonged to it. Wants it back. It won't stop til it gets it."
Iacton takes a seat before speaking again, his voice resolute. "He is looking for the feather."